“I tell you this is good,” said Lollie contentedly a quarter of an hour later, as they sat sipping the hot rum. “’Pon my word, it’s worth going away, if it’s only for the pleasure of coming back.” The others laughed at him. “Coming back home, eh?” scoffed the Second. “Yes, but look here, ’pon my word, it is home,” said Lollie earnestly. “I tell you it’s like going to a foreign country, going to the other side now. There’s so many rules and regulations you can’t keep up with them. You always seem to want a drink, or meet a pal you’d like a drink with, just in the no-drink hours. In uniform you can’t even get food after some silly hour like nine or ten o’clock. Why, after the theatre one night, when I was with three people in civvies, we went to a restaurant, and I had to sit hungry and watch them eat. They could get food, and I couldn’t. And one day a pal didn’t turn up that I was lunching at the Emperor’s, and I found I couldn’t have any of the things I wanted most, because it cost more than 3_s._ 6_d._ I’d set my heart on a dozen natives and a bit of grilled chicken—you know how you do get hankering for certain things after a spell out here—but I had to feed off poached eggs or some idiotic thing like that.” “But isn’t there some sense in that rule?” said the Padre. “Isn’t the idea to prevent young officers being made to pay more than they can afford?” Lollie snorted. “Does it prevent it?” he said. “My lunch cost me over fifteen bob rather than under it, what with a bottle of decent Burgundy, and coffee and liqueur, and tip to the waiter, and so on. And, anyhow, who but an utter ass would go to the Emperor’s if he couldn’t afford a stiff price for a meal? But it isn’t only these rules and things over there that makes it ‘coming home’ to come back here. In England you’re made to feel an outsider. D’you know I had a military police fellow pull me up for not carrying gloves in the first hour of my leave?” The others murmured sympathy. “What did you say, Lollie?” asked the Acting-Adjutant. “I made him jump,” said Lollie, beaming. “I was standing looking for a taxi, and this fellow came alongside and looked me up and down. ‘Your gloves have——,’ he was beginning, when I whipped round on him. ‘Are you speaking to me?’ I snapped. ‘Yessir,’ he said, stuttering a bit. ‘Then what do you mean by not saluting?’ I demanded, and sailed into him, and made him stand to attention while I dressed him down and told him I’d a good mind to report him for insolent and insubordinate behaviour. ‘And, now,’ I finished up, ‘there’s a brigadier-general just crossing the street, and he’s not carrying gloves. Go ’n speak to him about it, and then come back, and I’ll give you my card to report me.’ He sneaked off—_and_ he didn’t go after the general.” The others laughed and applauded. “Good stroke.” “Rather smart, Lollie.” “It is rather sickening.”